


Return of the Ranger

by Mar_isu



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: General, Post-War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2006-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-23 06:39:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3758173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mar_isu/pseuds/Mar_isu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barliman Butterbur has some interesting guests in his inn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Return of the Ranger

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

The King was coming up the Greenway, and Strider had returned to Bree.  And that was all Barliman Butterbur knew at the moment.  Well, that and his name as it was shouted at him from across the room.

"Barliman!  Another ale!" Jack Harvester turned back to his drinking companions as the large innkeeper bustled over.  "I'm telling you, there's going to be scads of them.  And not a one of them knowing one end of a plow from the other, you mark my words.  They'll just sit around, and when they run out of money, they'll still sit around.  We're throwing our arms open to layabouts."  The middle aged man nodded decisively, as if there was no more to be said on the subject.

"They served under the King; that should count for something." Will Appledown hefted a pint jug as large as his head and took a long drink.  "I've got an orchard they can tend if they need to."

The ringing of the bell over the door drew Butterbur away from the conversation.

"Well, Masters, what can I do for you?"  The innkeeper made his ponderous way to the counter, wiping his hands on the apron round his hips as he eyed the men who had just entered.

Two men, looking very uncomfortable in plain work shirts, stood close together.  They were thin with the gauntness of age, and both could boast at least fifty years of living.  The one slightly in front of his companion answered for them both.  "Beds for the night, and a meal.  The King arrives tomorrow, and we were sent ahead."

Buterbur waved a large hand toward a table in the center of the room.  "Of a certainty, Masters.  I'm sure the inn can hold as many as the King has.  Nob!  Nob, you half-witted Halfling!"

"Coming, sir.  Here, sir," Nob skidded to a halt in front of the old soldiers.

"You have horses, good masters?" Butterbur asked politely.  At the affirmative nod, Nob scurried off to see to the animals while the innkeeper bustled about setting bowls of stew and a fresh loaf of bread before his new guests. "It's lucky you're not hobbits," he informed the old soldiers. "Half the Shire turned out to greet the King."

"As well they should, the King rides to meet them."

Butterbur was just about to ask what the stranger meant by that, when the bell at the door rang again.  Bustling through the crowd that was steadily growing in his common room, Barliman saw a dark-hooded figure stalk from the door to the shadowed corner table, claiming it with such familiarity that by the time the innkeeper set food and ale before him, Strider had lit his pipe and settled in.

"I'm telling you, they look just the same, could he be Elessar?"  The talk from the old soldiers was clear.

"His father, more likely.  Do you remember Thorongil, Alcarin?  Or were you even alive then, so long ago?"

The first soldier spoke again, taking the teasing in the spirit it was offered.  "You have a decade on me, Tarannon, but I remember him.  He was such a great man.  Do you know he talked to me, once, when he caught me sneaking around the camp.  He told me I needed to live and grow, so I could fight for him later," Alcarin shook his head as if to clear the long-forgotten memories, but there was a smile on his face that showed he appreciated the possible irony.

"It's a pity you never saw him fight," Tarannon picked up the thought.  "He was unstoppable in Umbar, and fearless.  I often wonder what happened to him; he disappeared right after the battle."

An empty mug shoved into his hand distracted Butterbur from the conversation.  He bustled in his usual breathless manner to refill the tankard and return it to the pushy Ranger.  Strider accepted the refill and took a long drink before speaking.

"Well, Barliman, you certainly look no worse for a few years' wear.  How go things in the North?"

"There's a King, now, and he's coming up the Greenway," was all the innkeeper could think to say.

Strider gave a tight smile, "So I heard.  But what of Bree?  Any troubles at home?"

"None here, but the Shire's still trying to put itself to rights after that great hullabaloo early this year.  Scared the Little Folk half to death what with taking in all the refugees and relatives.  I wonder if the King ever heard about that.  After all he's got his throne down South and his golden cup, what would he care for folk like us?

"I'm telling you Strider, we need someone like that Captain Thorongil they're talking about; he would set everything straight," Butterbur shook his head sadly as he said it.  The laughter from the guardsmen's table doubled.

Strider simply smiled and said nothing.


	2. The Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barliman Butterbur has some interesting guests in his inn.

**AN:**   Those who thought that the first chapter was complete in and of itself, you can read or not as pleases you.  I had enough requests for a continuation that I wrote this bit to finish the story.  Please note this is the end!  
\----------

The King was in Bree, and Barliman Butterbur's inn was overflowing.  Talk was free, and ale just as cheep as most of the town and a good deal of the surrounding lands crammed into the common room of the Prancing Pony.  In the crush of folk, Big and Little, one small hobbit was almost overlooked.

"Now see here, Peregrin Took!" a crotchety old gaffer singled out one of the younger hobbits.  "Where do you get off wearing that gear?  Why, that's no sensible way for a hobbit to dress."

"I'm not just a hobbit, Gaffer," Pippin replied, sticking out his chest and straightening to his full height, a good three inches taller than most of the Little Folk could boast.  "I am a knight of Gondor on the King's business.  Where is the innkeeper?"

"Barliman!" Jack Harvester called, laughing.  "This little one's too far in his cups; says he's a knight of the realm!"

The young hobbit, dressed as one of the Tower Guard ignored the taunting, turning instead to the large man bustling over.  "Barliman Butterbur," Pippin began with a slight bow.  "The King Elessar bids you good day and wishes to speak with you."

"Why me, I'm naught but an innkeeper?" Butterbur asked, worried.  Had Strider reported his criticism to the king last night?  Was that why he was now being summoned?

"I do not know, sir, but I believe he wishes to give you thanks," Pippin replied.  The hobbit then turned away to salute the two old guardsmen nearby.  "My Lords Alcarin and Tarannon, I am to tell you that the Eagle of the Star calls you once again to his service."

Alcarin and Tarannon exchanged shocked glances.  "Thorongil," Tarannon whispered before both men launched to their feet and took up flanking positions behind a startled innkeeper.

Unsteady on his feet, Barliman Butterbur followed the knight barely half his height to the large tent that had been set up on the outskirts of town.  The sun near to blinded the large man as he had not left his inn in many days and the shadows of the tent they entered finished the job.  Darting a quick look up at the throne, Butterbur could make out the form of a man, but not his face.  The cloak wrapped about the man's shoulders was held in place with two broaches.  On his right shoulder, a silver eagle, wings outstretched, clasped in its talons a clear green stone, the source, had Butterbur only known it, of the King's reign-name, Elessar.  On the man's left shoulder, slightly dulled by age, was set a broach in the shape of a star.  It was this broach that drew gasps from both of the old campaigners behind Barliman.

Pippin marched up to the seated figure and nodded his respect.  "My Lord Elessar," the hobbit announced, "Barliman Butterbur, and my Lords Alcarin and Tarannon, as you requested."  Finished with his duties, the small knight took his place behind and to the left of the throne.

"Well met, Barliman Butterbur," an almost familiar voice called from the shadows, and the corpulent innkeeper knew his King addressed him.

"W- Well met, Your Majesty," he managed to stammer out, bowing low.

"There's no need to stand on ceremony, Barliman," the King chuckled, "not for such as you."

Far from reassuring him, that only frightened Butterbur even more.  He hastened to excuse himself.  "If this is about what I said last night, Your Majesty, I don't know how that Strider put it to you, but you must know I meant no harm.  Folk will talk, and I join them without thought.  I certainly didn't mean to slander Your Majesty in any way-"

"Peace, innkeeper," Elessar soothed.  "I know exactly in how much reverence you hold me, and what form that reverence takes.  Look at me, Barliman." Butterbur dared lift his eyes, meeting Strider's usual smirk.  "Have we not always been honest with each other?" the Ranger finished.

"Strider!" he exclaimed.  "Why, where's the King?"  The rest of the tent laughed at that.

"You forgetful old fool," Pippin gasped through his laughter, "This is the King!  We told you who he was when we came back."

"He is?  You did?" the man screwed up his face, trying to remember.  "One thing pushes out another and I've clean forgot."

"And I thank you for that forgetting," Elessar stood and walked up to the innkeeper, looking deep into his eyes.  "You let me be Strider in your inn last night, Barliman, and that is a gift beyond price for one such as I."  A genuine smile lit the tired face.  "Besides, I thought your suggestion a good one."

"My suggestion?" Butterbur repeated as the King swept past him.

"Well, Alcarin," Elessar greeted, placing a hand on the stunned guardsman's shoulder.  "Did I not tell you that you would fight for me, if you would but be patient?"

"My Lord Thorongil," the old soldier bowed his head.  "I did not know.  You look so . . . young."

Thorongil threw his head back and laughed.  "Not so young as that, Captain," he answered.  "I can count eighty-nine years to my life, almost twice that of a sapling such as yourself." 

The guardsman looked over his elderly form, then surveyed the figure of his Captain and King who wore the years far lighter than he should.  "Varda give you life in keeping with your looks," he murmured to a warm smile from the King.

"Wait, Thorongil?" the neglected innkeeper spoke up, thoroughly confused.  "But I thought you were Strider – and – and the King -"

"And Estel and Aragorn," Elessar finished.  "I have been called all that and more.  What name you know me by does not change who I am."

"Well that's it; I'll never keep it straight now."  Barliman Butterbur shook his head to the amusement of all.

**\----------------  
AN:** Well?  Did the end live up to the beginning?  Tell me!


End file.
